


ire and love

by teavious



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 08:55:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10590645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teavious/pseuds/teavious
Summary: He talks. You smile. The world spins for him, but it stops for you.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Modern AU for Les Miserables. Inspired by a roleplay I'm doing with two amazing friends.
> 
> Enjolras, as depicted here and all the headcanons surrounding him, belong to [@melpomenn.](http://melpomenn.tumblr.com/)  
> Grantaire, as depicted here and all the headcanons surrounding him, belong to [@aeiranae.](http://aeirenae.tumblr.com/)  
> All plot bunnies are creations of our minds at like 1 AM.

The ground rumbles under you, but it’s for all the wrong reasons – dizziness, the aftertaste of alcohol gross on your tongue, a song stuck in your head, impossible to get out.  
The ground rumbles under him, proud to hold his steps, to sometimes (but hopefully never) host his ideas and his ideals and his heart. You watch, and when the road brings you together, you feel sick and not in the familiar way.  
He talks. You smile. The world spins for him, but it stops for you.  
When fireworks go off, you swear and he bites his lips, and you could have sworn your ribcage will not look like that New Year’s sky.  
And yet it does, and yet it does. Colours bleed under your skin, you scratch at your skin and you sketch until the paper rips, and yet the reds, the golden will not go away. When he wraps a hand around your wrist, to stop you from downing your fourth (fifth?) bottle, everything but his voice (chiding, firm but strangely soothing) is dimmed off to the edges.

**_*_ **

  
You might turn deaf from the songs you’re listening to, the volume turned high enough so that when you see him, when you read his texts, when you notice his name, you don’t bite on your tongue. You turn it in your mouth, you taste its edges, you test the curls in the letters, and you make it yours. You swallow it with your gasp, and the next time you see him, you’re ashamed.  
_*****_

  
She laughs, you laugh. She gets angry, you get mad. She’s there, you’re next to her. It’s easy and familiar. She teases, you tease back. She’s annoying, you give back. Together, you’re a little better, a little pettier, and a little safer in the notions and embraces of love.

_***** _

 

Marks erupt on your skin like flowers, though they’d be already blooming by the time you’ll see them. You can focus only on the softness of his hair, the feel of his lips on your neck, chest (own lips). The world ceases existing, and if in the morning you’ll feel guilty for wanting it to end in that exact moment (for you would have died as happy as you’ve ever been), does it really fucking matter?  
**_*_**

  
The warmth of girls is the softest embrace. The harshness of boys is the sweetest kiss.  
**_*_**

  
It goes like this: one step after another. It’s a particularly good advice to listen to about anything in your life, really. One step after another. You’ll eventually reach somewhere (someone). If that is so, why when he is in the same room too, does it feel like it’s a constant tide of come and go, one step further and one back? The words feel all wrong in your mouth, the faces he pulls look all wrong on him. You bite your tongue this time, because you deserve it, and watch him go. One step back.  
You take one forward.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me on [tumblr](http://teavious.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
